


it's three am, i hope you're home

by JuniperTrees



Category: South Park
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperTrees/pseuds/JuniperTrees
Summary: Kyle knows what he wants, but Mysterion keeps climbing in through his window.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick, Kyle Broflovski/Mysterion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	it's three am, i hope you're home

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for using every kysterion trope imaginable, and for sleeping on k2 so long
> 
> heavily inspired by the lovely yumesy's [kysterion art](https://yumesy.tumblr.com/post/181079882778/youve-been-pining-for-your-friend-for-years-but). check her out [here!](https://yumesy.tumblr.com)

He comes in through the window. 

It’s 11:43 PM. Kyle has brushed his teeth and is shuffling around, not quite drowsy enough to lie down yet. The window’s open, nothing but a soft draft outside.

Stan has texted him a string of gibberish, largely incomprehensible unless Kyle really focuses. It’s something along the lines of _love you so much dude i saw this really cute dog today._ It’s obvious he’s been drinking.

Kyle is texting back when there’s a sudden loud _thud._

“What the hell?” he shouts, phone slipping out of his grasp.

There’s a person crumpled under his windowsill, decked out in a ridiculous looking costume. He’s wearing a cape, tattered in one corner, spread across the floor. Kyle can’t see his face and when the intruder groans and shifts, Kyle realizes it doesn’t matter — he’s wearing a mask that dashes any hope of identifying him. 

He grabs the pocket knife on his dresser, nails digging into his palm from how hard he's holding it. It’s a gift from Kenny, Kyle hasn’t had to use it till now. It’s sad, but South Park has conditioned him for violent defense.

“Who are you?” he demands, backing towards the door. 

“Kyle,” the masked man rasps, struggling to get up. 

“You’re Kyle,” he says incredulously, knife still pointed at the intruder, other hand moving towards the doorknob.

“No. I’m Mysterion,” he says. “You’re Kyle,” he adds, and their eyes meet.

Even in his panic-induced state, Kyle scrunches his forehead at the outfit. There’s a large green M emblazoned across his chest and — he’s wearing underwear over his tights. 

“I’m calling the cops,” he says abruptly. He’ll have to make a run for his parents room, his phone is lying too close to Mysterion for comfort.

“Don’t,” Mysterion says. “I won’t hurt you.” He coughs, and from across the room, Kyle can see his eyes are a startling blue. “I’ll — I’ll stay right here.” He’s shifted so he’s sitting instead of lying on the floor, and to emphasize his point, raises both arms in apparent surrender.

“Get out,” Kyle says. “Or I’ll call the cops.”

Mysterion makes no move to leave, and that’s when Kyle realizes he can’t — his leg is bent at two angles. When he looks closely, Kyle sees the evident white of bone.

“What the hell,” he mutters, feeling a little sick.

“I-” Mysterion winces. “I need your help,” he grits out. 

Kyle bites down another ‘what the hell’, gaze flickering towards the doorknob, contemplating whether he should hear him out. Mysterion’s no threat in his current state.

“Please,” Mysterion pleads, voice trailing on a pained hiss.

“Okay,” Kyle says slowly, lowering the knife. He takes a tentative step forward, probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done, but then again, probably not. “Why’re you in my room?”

“You’re trustworthy,” Mysterion grits out. Kyle pauses, scrutinizing him. “I need-” his voice cuts off on another aggravated inhale. “I need a minute,” he finishes. 

By now, Kyle has inched forward enough to see how fucked Mysterion’s leg is. He’s sure his face is a little green under the mask. “Dude, you need a hospital,” he says. It's not a joke by any means, but Mysterion huffs out a laugh. Kyle hesitates, glancing at the clock. “I can drive you there,” he offers.

Mysterion shakes his head, tipping it backwards against the wall. He looks at Kyle, eyes lidded. “Watch,” he murmurs softly.

Kyle almost doesn’t notice it at first, but then he sees shifting, bone rearranging slowly, the flesh and muscle shaping together as the skin slowly closes around the break in Mysterion's leg. He starts at a quiet snapping sound, the sudden harshness of the noise.

Kyle gapes, speechless. He realizes his knife is probably useless just as Mysterion realizes Kyle is backing towards his phone.

Kyle stumbles as Mysterion rises, leg completely healed. The only evidence of the injury is the gash in his tights. 

“Kyle, wait,” he says, but Kyle is already diving for his phone, dignity be damned. He has no idea how Mysterion moves so fast. Kyle is grabbed by the waist, hands pinned to his chest as Mysterion holds him back.

“I won’t hurt you,” Mysterions says breathlessly. Kyle struggles to no avail, kicking out like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Mysterion doesn't even flinch, just holds Kyle a few inches above the ground.

“Let go of me,” Kyle grunts, a little mortified at how easily he's being manhandled.

“Promise you won’t snitch?” Mysterion asks. Against Kyle’s better judgement, he snorts at the uncharacteristically childish question.

Kyle doubts Mysterion will release him even if he says yes, but when he nods his agreement, he actually does, even backing up a few steps. Good, Kyle would have punched him if he'd been close enough.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in that strange gravel tone. “I needed somewhere to recover.”

Kyle watches him, rubbing his wrist and trying to catch his breath. Both his knife and phone are on the floor, and he’s screwed if Mysterion tries anything. It’s starting to sink in that he isn’t going to.

“I’m sorry,” Mysterion continues when he doesn’t answer.

“Kyle?” his mom says, making him startle. Mysterion just glances at the closed door. “Is everything okay?”

In the brief moment it takes Kyle to answer, Mysterion is already crouching on the windowsill, halfway outside. He’s watching Kyle like he’s waiting for his answer.

“Yeah, mom,” Kyle finally says, eyes still locked with Mysterion’s. He hears his mother shuffle down the hallway, footsteps growing softer. In the second it takes him to blink, Mysterion has disappeared, leaving nothing but an open window and the disheveled state of Kyle’s room.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle doesn’t bring it up to anyone, mostly because it sounds ridiculous even in his head. _A masked intruder wearing underwear over his clothes snuck into my room last night. Also, his leg went full Deadpool._

Kyle likes not being in a mental ward, so he doesn’t mention it when Stan asks him what’s wrong.

During lunch, Kenny wraps an arm around his shoulders in comfort. It’s nothing new, Kenny has always been affectionate with him. Usually Kyle takes it in stride, but today leans into it. He’s sure it’s evident he didn’t get any sleep. His mother was horrified at his dark circles this morning. ( _Bubbeh, what were you_ doing _last night?)_ He’s grateful that Kenny doesn’t ask if he’s okay.

The week goes by without further incident. Kyle keeps his window sealed shut anyways. He also starts sleeping with the pocket knife under his pillow.

When another week goes by, he starts sleeping a little better.

He’s already under the covers, lights off, when he hears the tapping. He jerks up immediately on high alert, heart hammering in his throat. It’s quiet long enough that Kyle thinks he might have imagined it, but then he hears it again — three knocks in quick succession.

Kyle moves towards his window, holding the pocket knife and his phone this time. It’s quiet outside, no sign of anything living. Just to be sure, he slowly opens the window frame and pokes his head out. Mysterion’s head drops down, inches from his own. He grabs the knife that slips out Kyle’s hand when Kyle yelps. 

Kyle is struck speechless by his ridiculously quick reflexes, but then he remembers his regenerative abilities and the surprise evaporates.

He backs away when Mysterion flips around to perch on his windowsill, halfway outside and halfway in his room. He looks miffed when he extends his arm and Kyle recoils. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gruffly, offering the knife in his upturned palm. Mysterion’s hands are covered by gloves. The material feels patchy when Kyle takes his knife back.

“What are you-” Kyle starts, glancing around nervously. He can’t make out any of his features when he’s obscured by shadow. He tries very hard to not let his gaze wander down towards underwear territory.

“I need your help,” Mysterion says quietly. It sounds loud in the quiet of the house.

Kyle blinks at him once, twice. “What?” 

“Find everything you can on Larry Duncliff,” he continues, unperturbed.

“Dude,” Kyle says in exasperation.

Mysterion pauses. “Please,” he adds, and then with a flash of his cape, he’s gone.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle finds himself in the library after school, actually digging up information about Larry Duncliff. He isn’t quite sure why he’s complying with Mysterion’s request, but he sits there, skimming through books and old newspapers.

Stan is at football practice. Kyle should be playing basketball, but he’d chosen to info dig for Mysterion instead. He isn’t sure what that says about him.

Kenny shuffles up next to him, nose poking out of his zipped up parka. (Sometimes — embarrassingly — Kyle is tempted to kiss the freckles on it.) Kenny hardly comes to the library, and when he does, it’s only to sit quietly next to Kyle while he’s studying.

“Hey,” Kyle says distractedly, scrolling through another long forum. He waits for Kenny to ask what he’s doing. Instead, he shifts their chairs so they’re pressed together. It’s already warm, but Kyle feels heat crawling up his neck.

Kenny falls asleep — he’s been looking kind of tired lately — and Kyle stays until he wakes up, long after he’s finished doing his research.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle feels like an idiot sitting by the open window, papers and notes in hand. It’s late and everyone in the house is asleep. He doesn’t particularly mind going to bed late, he’d had work to finish anyways, but waiting for Mysterion is a gamble with time.

Mysterion hadn’t told him when he’d be coming. Kyle blushes, chewing on his lip. He's making it sound like they had plans to meet again when all Mysterion did was give him an assignment and jump out the window. The embarrassment intensifies when he realizes the nervous roiling in his gut is from anticipation. 

It’s almost two in the morning when Mysterion pokes his head into Kyle’s room. “Kyle,” he says softly, and Kyle jolts. He’d dozed off while waiting.

“Dude, ever heard of knocking?” He rubs his eyes and grabs the papers, pushing them towards Mysterion.

“You could have just left them here,” Mysterion says, taking them. It might be the drowsiness, but Kyle thinks he detects a hint of guilt.

Mysterion grabs his arm when Kyle stumbles on his way to the bed. His hand almost completely wraps around Kyle’s bicep, warm even through the gloves. Kyle suddenly notices how cold it is when he lets go.

“Thank you,” Mysterion says roughly.

Kyle glances at him, hesitating to get in bed. “You need anything else?” he asks, praying Mysterion doesn’t hear the hopeful undertones.

In the dim light, it looks like he’s smiling, but Kyle is never sure. “I’ll let you know,” Mysterion says. “Goodnight,” he adds after a short pause. He’s gone too fast for Kyle to say it back.  
  


* * *

  
He doesn’t hear from Mysterion for a while, and idiotically, Kyle waits near his window, staying up later than usual in hopes that he might come knocking again.

“You look like shit,” Stan mentions while they’re walking down the hall.

“Fuck off,” Kyle says, although it doesn’t sound very angry when it’s punctuated by a yawn. Other kids are pouring out of their classrooms, dismissed for the day, exhausting Kyle with just the sound of their chatter. Kenny comes up behind him, quiet as always.

"You've got crazy eye bags," Stan comments to Kyle's growing annoyance. Kenny steers Kyle away from the wall he was about to walk into, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Kyle smiles at him gratefully, but Kenny doesn’t smile back, just gives him a worried look.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks.

Kyle swats at his arm but doesn’t pull away. “I’m fine,” he answers. Then he glances at the tired slouch in Kenny’s posture. “Are you?”

“Yes, mom,” Kenny replies snarkily. He and Stan laugh when Kyle punches his arm.  
  


* * *

  
A few days later, Kyle sees the article in the newspaper. _Duncliff, 47, arrested for sexual trafficking allegations._ Kyle stares at the letters, not quite processing it. Even if he hadn’t done much, it still feels like he played a part in the arrest.

He wonders why Mysterion hasn’t visited to tell him, then remembers how stupid it is for him to think so.

He’s walking home later that same night, not really looking where he’s going. They’d run out of staples and he’d gone to buy more. It's more peaceful than usual, the weather starting to get colder. Kyle has his ushanka pulled snug over his head, thinking about possible snow days. The plastic bag knocks against his leg as he walks.

He pauses when he hears shuffling behind him. Kyle whips his head backwards, looking for the source of sound. There’s nothing behind him, just dark buildings and alleyways.

He starts walking faster, hand reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. 

He swallows anxiously when he hears the tell-tale sound of footsteps, pace matching his own. 

Maybe it’s just another pedestrian. He makes a turn and they follow. He takes a left and they do the same.

“Fuck,” Kyle mutters. He fumbles with his phone, palms sweaty. 

“Hey, got any cash?” asks the person behind him. 

Kyle wants to break into a sprint, but he doesn’t know if he can outrun the guy. “I have a knife,” he says, turning around to look the mugger in the eye. He knows Kenny lives in the area, but if Kyle called him, how fast could he get here? “I’ll call the cops,” Kyle warns. It’s a useless attempt, the police station is fifteen minutes from here.

The mugger leers, clearly not feeling very threatened. 

Kyle feels his knees buckle, hands shaking, words choking in his throat as the person nears— 

“ _Kyle!_ ” 

They both startle at the shout. It sounded like Kenny. Kyle opens his mouth to call out, but a dark blur drops from the sky, right on top of the unsuspecting assaulter, and Kyle goes silent from the shock.

In the dark, it takes him a minute to identify Mysterion, fists moving inhumanly fast.

The mugger is on the floor, curling inwards, and Mysterion straightens, turning to look at Kyle. His blue eyes glint even in the dark.

Kyle doesn’t care how pathetic it looks, he scrambles forwards, arms outstretched as the plastic bag around his arm clutters to the floor. Mysterion grabs him by the waist and picks him up like he weighs nothing. “Hold on,” he growls into Kyle’s ear.

The mugger groans but Kyle doesn’t look at him, just wraps his arms around Mysterion’s neck and yelps when he climbs a ladder like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Mysterion scales the roof and starts running across the rooftops, wind whipping his cape behind him. Kyle tightens his grip when he jumps from one roof to another, squeezing his eyes shut as the buildings pass.

He can’t believe that happened. He can’t believe he’d been about to be mugged, that Mysterion had shown up just as Kyle was about to call for help and— 

“Kenny,” he gasps. 

Mysterion stumbles.

Kyle pulls back, feeling frantic. “We have to go back,” he insists. The flaps of his ushanka slap him in the face as the wind blows by.

Mysterion’s eyes are narrowed through the mask. Kyle keeps babbling, slapping his shoulder, trying to get Mysterion to stop and put him down. 

“My friend — I heard him. We have to go back,” he says.

Finally, they slow to a stop.

“His name’s Kenny, we have to help him,” Kyle keeps saying, breathing too fast.

“It was only you, Kyle,” Mysterion says.

“No,” Kyle argues. “I heard him. We can’t leave him.” It’s probably not a good idea to hit the person who just carried him several hundred feet without breaking a sweat. Despite Kyle's protests, Mysterion starts running again.

Kyle's still insisting they turn around when they reach his house. Mysterion all but throws him through his bedroom window (thank god it was already open). 

“Please,” Kyle almost begs. “You have to check—”

“I will,” Mysterion cuts him off, already pulling away. 

“His name’s Kenny-” Kyle keeps going.

“I know,” Mysterion cuts him off again, mouth upturned in an amused smile. Kyle feels a hot flash of rage. It isn’t funny and he’s about to say so, but Mysterion is off again. Kyle hears his footsteps on the roof before they fade.

Still high on adrenaline, Kyle pulls out his phone, checking to see if he has any missed calls. He tries calling, but Kenny doesn’t pick up. He texts, fingers trembling. 

**To** : Kenny

_Are you okay?_

_Where are you?_

He stays up, chewing his nails, looking out the window in hopes to see Mysterion come back and tell him Kenny’s okay. It's two in the morning when he hears the chime.

 **From** : Kenny

_yeah_

_home_

_r u?_

Kyle finally relaxes, limbs practically boneless, and it isn’t until much later that he remembers he lost the plastic bag with the staples in it.  
  


* * *

  
The next day at school, Kyle barrels towards Kenny the minute he sees him. Kenny doesn’t question it when he’s wrapped up in a suffocating hug, just gently rests his hands at the small of Kyle’s back.

“You okay?” he asks, laughing.

There’s no indication of injuries or residual shock from a mugging that happened last night. Still, Kyle squeezes him hard, like letting go means Kenny will get hurt. _I thought I heard you last night, I thought you’d gotten hurt,_ Kyle thinks, face buried in Kenny’s shoulder. He doesn’t care who’s watching.

“Ky, I’m okay,” Kenny says softly, like he knows why Kyle is being so clingy.

Nonetheless, he lets Kyle stay that way, rubbing a soothing hand over his back until the bell rings and forces them apart.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle keeps his window open after that, no matter how cold it is outside. On snowy days, he makes sure there’s enough space so Mysterion can pry it open himself.

A few weeks go by without incident. Kyle stops waiting. He knows he looks like a fool, glancing at the ledge anytime he hears noise.

When Mysterion does come in his room again, Kyle is about to sleep, eyes already closed. 

He sits upright at the thud.

Mysterion lies on the floor, arm clutched around his waist. There’s a lot of blood, and Kyle moves next to him, hand hovering over the wound.

“What happened?” he asks, voice hushed, horrified.

Mysterion groans, low under his breath. “Got shot,” he manages to say, wincing. 

Kyle swallows the bile rising in his throat. “You need me to get it out,” he says, a knowing statement. “Or it won’t heal properly.”

Mysterion nods, but even that looks like it hurts. 

“Stay here,” Kyle orders as if Mysterion is in any shape to leave. He finds his way downstairs, grabbing a towel, a bucket for God knows what reason, and a pair of tweezers. 

Mysterion’s head is rolled forward when Kyle returns.

“Hey, stay awake,” he says, kneeling next to him. Every book he’s read has told Kyle to never try digging a bullet out, to leave it until a medical professional is present. But Mysterion refuses to go to a hospital, and after Kyle saw what he could do with his leg, it doesn’t seem like he should.

“This won’t-” he swallows nervously. “This won’t mess up your organs, right?”

“It’ll heal,” Mysterion grunts out.

Kyle tries not to think too much about it. The bullet isn’t lodged too deeply, shallow enough that Kyle can see it without too much prodding. To Mysterion’s credit, he doesn’t make any noise except small puffs of pain. 

He almost throws up when it’s removed. Almost.

There’s blood everywhere. Kyle looks away as the wound closes — he can practically see the guts rearranging themselves.

After a long moment, Mysterion relaxes, letting out a relieved exhale. He’s completely healed as far as Kyle can tell.

His head is reeling, from the lack of injury evidence or the removal process, he doesn't know. “Why’d you come to me?” he works up the nerve to ask. It's a poor attempt to distract himself.

Mysterion glances at him. “Because you’re the smartest person I know.”

He says it with such certainty that Kyle blushes, flushing to his roots. The only people who have told him that are his parents and Kenny, and his parents stopped after they adopted Ike.

Mysterion turns during Kyle’s doubtful silence, looking him straight in the eyes. “You are,” he repeats softly.

Kyle is suddenly hyper aware of their shoulders pressed against each other, how blue Mysterion’s eyes are, how easy it would be to lean forward so their foreheads touched. The smell of iron ruins the moment a little bit, but only a little.

Up close, Kyle can see the freckles scattered around Mysterion’s eyes. Kyle is tempted to lift the hood of his costume and see what his hair looks like. His hand twitches as he works up the courage, but then Mysterion is pulling away, leaving Kyle swooning on the floor like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

“Y-you can stay here,” he stammers, hoping his voice doesn’t sound desperate.

Mysterion rolls his shoulders, twists to see if he’s completely healed before crouching on the windowsill when it seems he has. “Get some sleep,” he says before leaping into the night.  
  


* * *

  
Kenny is whistling when he meets up with Kyle and Stan, standing in the hallway between classes. Kyle feels very shitty in comparison. He can’t believe he acted like that last night. He’d spent all night wondering if he’d scared Mysterion away.

Kenny drapes an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, grinning at him, briefing a glance of the gap in his front teeth. In the fourth grade, the girls had made fun of him for it, but Kyle has always secretly wanted to run his tongue over it.

He blushes, feeling ashamed. He’s liked Kenny for _years,_ long enough that Kyle doesn’t even know when it started, but they’re nowhere near dating. And then some masked vigilante comes swinging into Kyle’s life and suddenly Kyle can’t stop thinking about him. He feels like he’s cheating on Kenny, but he’s not even _with_ Kenny and—

“Dude,” Stan says, nudging him roughly. “Earth to Kyle.”

Kyle snaps out of his thoughts. “What?” 

Stan rolls his eyes. “I asked you like, twenty times if you were going to Token’s party.”

“Um, when is it?” 

Stan rolls his eyes again. “Ten, but he said show up whenever.”

Kyle doesn’t party often, but Stan always asks. The loud music always gives him a headache. Stupidly, his mind wanders to Mysterion and whether or not he’ll show up again. It’s not like he promised to keep visiting. Is it bad that Kyle briefly wishes he’d get injured again?

“ _Dude_ ,” Stan says. “You keep spacing out.”

“I can’t,” Kyle answers. “I have uh — a paper due in English.” It’s not a complete lie but it isn't due until next week. Starting it now is ridiculous even for Kyle’s standards.

Stan shrugs. “Kenny?”

Kenny shakes his head. “Can’t. Work.” Kyle wonders if he squeezed his shoulder on purpose, Kenny’s arm still pressed against Kyle’s back.   
  


* * *

  
Mysterion shows up, knocking against his window. 

Kyle is halfway across the room before he realizes how overeager he must seem and slows down.

“Hi,” he chokes out as nonchalantly as he can.

Mysterion slips in, silent as his feet touch the carpet of Kyle’s bedroom floor.

Kyle shuffles around. He’s glad he didn’t go to Token’s party, glad Mysterion showed up when he was in his room. “Can I get you water or something?” he asks.

Mysterion nods. 

Kyle is halfway through the door before he turns. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then he heads downstairs to get a glass of water, heart thumping in his chest.

Mysterion is still standing in the middle of the room when he returns. He hasn’t moved a millimeter, and Kyle laughs at how out of place he looks in his room. “Dude, you can sit down,” he tells him, grinning. He sets the glass of water on the table in case Mysterion doesn’t want to get too close.

Kyle tries not to stare at his Adam’s apple as Mysterion drinks.

“What are you reading?” Mysterion asks, setting the glass down and leaning against the bed frame. He nods at the book on Kyle’s desk. Kyle doesn't let himself think about how Mysterion came just to talk, not because there's something urgent.

“The Stranger.” Kyle's hands are sweating even though it’s not that hot. He wonders if his answers are too dry, if Mysterion is getting bored. “I never thanked you for saving me the other day.”

Mysterion blinks at him. “It’s my duty,” he says dutifully.

Kyle hates how something so cliche sounds cool when Mysterion says it in his deep rumble. “What do you do?”

“I watch over the city.”

The silence descends again. Kyle racks his brain for something to say. He must seem like such an idiot, completely lacking conversation skills. What _do_ you say to a vigilante?

“Do you like reading?” Mysterion asks. Kyle glances at him.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “My parents want me to be a lawyer, so that’s part of it.”

“Is that what you want?” 

Kyle shrugs, uncomfortable with the shift in conversation. “I guess? I don’t know what else I can do.”

“You’re smart enough to do anything,” Mysterion says, and Kyle — he doesn’t know what to say. 

He laughs nervously, blushing again. He needs to _stop_ doing that. “Tell that to my mom,” he jokes, and is pleasantly surprised when he elicits a low chuckle.

He fidgets, feeling a little braver. “My friends are always saying I should be one ‘cause I like arguing, but I can’t help it when I’m _right_. There’s this asshole in my lit class, the one I’m reading this book for, and whenever I say something he has to take the opposite side — even when it’s racist or sexist or ableist. I bet half the time he even agrees with what I say, he just does it to piss me off.”

He trails off, wondering if he’s boring Mysterion, but when he looks at him he’s sitting on the bed, rapt with attention.

It turns out Mysterion likes listening to Kyle ramble. Whenever he finishes answering a question, there’s another one forthcoming. He tries asking them in turn, not just to be polite but because he wants to know, but all he gets are one or two syllable answers.

“And Wendy, another girl in my class, she keeps trying to set me up with her friend and I’m-” Kyle sighs, raking a hand through his curls. “I’m not interested. Sometimes I want to tell her I already like someone, but then all the girls will want to know who-”

“Who do you like?” Mysterion says. It’s the first time he’s interjected the entire night.

 _You,_ Kyle’s brain supplies unhelpfully. _No,_ he argues with his head, which then supplies _Kenny_ even more unhelpfully.

“I’m not telling,” he scoffs. He’s not going to risk it. Mysterion probably knows everyone in South Park, especially considering how everybody knows everybody. 

“Is she nice?” Mysterion presses, and Kyle’s hands start to sweat. 

There’s nothing wrong with being gay. He shouldn’t be ashamed of saying it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get nervous about it. The only person he’s told is Ike. He hasn’t even told Stan or Kenny, and he tells them practically everything. It’s crazy that he’s actually considering telling Mysterion.

“Um, yeah. He is.” Kyle swallows. His throat is painfully dry.

To his own surprise, he doesn’t regret it. At least, not at the moment. Kyle glances at Mysterion, brain kicking into overdrive. What if he’s homophobic? What if he beats him up right here? Why did Kyle do that?

But Mysterion’s smile has gone accepting, almost soft. “I won’t tell,” he says, and Kyle believes him.

“Is he tall?” Mysterion asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good-looking?” Mysterion is grinning. 

Kyle looks away, face burning. “Sure.”

“What’s his name?”

“Nice try,” Kyle snorts. He glances at the clock and realizes it’s almost three in the morning. 

Mysterion gets up. Kyle almost tells him to stay, that he doesn’t mind, but he bites his tongue. He trails Mysterion to the window instead, watching as he pokes his head out and checks the perimeter. 

“Will you come again?” he asks before he can stop himself. The formality of it makes him wince.

Mysterion glances at him, blue flashing. “Do you want me to?” he asks in return, smiling.

Kyle sputters.

Mysterion laughs, a glimpse of white as he shows his teeth. His hand brushes Kyle’s shoulder as he leaps to the ground, and Kyle watches him go, still red.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle anxiously fidgets with his hands the next day during lunch. Stan and Kenny are talking about some video game coming out soon. 

It shouldn’t be that hard to say. _I’m gay._ He’s sure people wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. Well, everyone except Cartman.

He’d thought about it last night, after Mysterion had left. Maybe it was time he started being more transparent with himself. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t told anyone yet. It’d felt almost liberating, as sappy as that sounded.

“You okay?” Kenny nudges him.

Kyle stares at the table, clears his head, and blurts out very quickly: “I’m gay.”

An agonizing second passes. Kyle tentatively raises his head, tensing in anticipation.

“Cool,” says Stan.

“Nice,” says Kenny, slapping Kyle’s hand with a high-five. Kyle doesn’t let himself read too much into it.

Kyle groans. “Cartman is going to have a field day,” he says, trying to hide his relief.

“I’ll kill him if he does,” Kenny says very darkly. He grins, eyes bright when Kyle laughs.

“Really dude,” says Stan, “we’ll beat him up together.”  
  


* * *

  
Kyle’s in a ridiculously good mood when Mysterion knocks on his window. “Hey,” he says bubbly. (Bubbly? He needs help.) 

Mysterion gives him an amused look but doesn’t comment.

There’s already a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Kyle blushes when Mysterion gives him a questioning look. He’s sure he would be arching an eyebrow if they weren’t covered by the mask. “That’s for you,” he says uselessly, like it isn’t placed right next to where Mysterion usually stands.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he gets comfortable, hugging a pillow to his chest giddily. (Giddily? He _really_ needs help.) “You can sit down.” He pats the spot next to him. Mysterion looks like he’s about to laugh.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says.

“I had a good day,” he shrugs.

Kyle is incredibly pleased when Mysterion actually sits down next to him. There’s a space between them, but this is the first time they’ve been close — at least, when neither of them are injured or scared. 

“Any new cases?” Kyle asks. He’s made it a mission to get some answers out of Mysterion today.

“You want to help again?”

“If you need me to,” Kyle says too fast. He coughs, averting his gaze. “The stuff you do — is it dangerous?”

He feels the mattress shift when Mysterion shrugs. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What’s the most dangerous thing that’s happened?”

“Got killed,” he says so nonchalantly Kyle thinks he heard him wrong. 

Kyle blinks. Runs the words over in his head. “Killed,” he says carefully, like it’s the detonator on a bomb.

“Yeah.” He sounds serious. He _looks_ serious. Kyle doesn’t question Mysterion’s intelligence, but maybe he’s overestimated his sanity. “It’s okay,” he says like it actually is. “I can’t die.” 

That doesn’t make any sense. The confusion must be showing on Kyle’s face because Mysterion laughs, deflecting any further conversation. “You worried?” His tone is teasing, almost smug.

“Yeah,” Kyle replies without skipping a beat. He’d meant for it to sound challenging, but instead it comes out breathy, almost scared.

Mysterion doesn’t say anything, just looks at him without blinking. He doesn’t look as intimidating in the warm light of Kyle’s room. Kyle shifts to press their shoulders together, holding his breath as Mysterion’s pupils dilate, fingers flexing where they’re placed on the mattress.

Slowly, Kyle raises a hand towards his face, heart beating so fast he’s starting to feel nauseous.

Mysterion tips forward and kisses him.

Kyle wants to climb him like a tree. Fuck, he can’t be in love with two people at the same time, can he? It’s ridiculous to even say he’s in love with Mysterion. He's reminded once again that he doesn’t know anything about him, not even his real name. 

Still, that doesn’t stop him from arching forwards, cupping Mysterion’s face in his hands and kissing him back. In fact, Mysterion's anonymity hardly means anything when he rests his hands on Kyle’s waist, pulling him forwards so their chests are pressed together. 

It’s overwhelming, but Kyle doesn’t want to stop. He shouldn’t be kissing Mysterion, it doesn’t make any sense, he’s in love with someone else — then Mysterion opens his mouth and Kyle stops thinking altogether.

He lets out a quiet whimper when Mysterion tightens his grip. Kyle licks across his teeth, feeling the gap— 

He pulls himself away abruptly, head spinning. _Kenny,_ he thinks, and suddenly that’s all he can think about. Mysterion’s gloved hands wrap around his wrists. Kyle squeezes his eyes shut. It’s painfully quiet for a minute, nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing.

“I can’t,” he finally says. “I already — I already like someone.”

He can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Mysterion’s grip loosen on his wrists, letting out a bated breath in the movement. Kyle feels like his chest is caving in. He’s a terrible person — kissing someone else when it shouldn’t mean anything. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have been thinking of Kenny when he did.

“Sorry,” he whispers, wincing when his voice cracks.

Mysterion just looks resigned when Kyle finally looks at him. 

“It’s okay.” Mysterion backs away. Like he’s the one who hurt Kyle. Like Kyle’s the one being rejected.

Kyle hates himself a little — a lot. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay,” Mysterion repeats, looking like it’s anything but. Still, he smiles, the pull on his mouth too wide to be convincing. It’s only for a brief second, but then he’s gone, and Kyle is already wishing he'd come back.  
  


* * *

  
He doesn’t leave his window open for a few days. He thinks about it too much, the look in Mysterion’s eyes, how close he’d been.

He doesn’t notice how Kenny is quieter than usual, not as touchy-feely. 

He’s thinking about it again, late at night, eyes closed. The scene keeps replaying in his head, the resignation, the hurt look. _It’s okay. It’s okay._ The way he’d smiled—

Kyle opens his eyes and sits upright.

Freckles. Blue eyes. The gap in his teeth. Telling Kyle he was the smartest person he knew.

Kyle has never thought he was stupid, but he’s starting to reconsider it now. 

He tapes a note to his window: _I need to talk to you_.

Kyle waits. Mysterion doesn’t come.  
  


* * *

  
The note stays up for a week. Kyle’s too scared to confront Kenny about it, to confirm his suspicions in such a straightforward way. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s _right?_ He doesn’t know which outcome makes him more nervous.

He’s finishing an assignment for calc when he hears knocking. It’s startles him, making him drop the pencil in his hand.

Kyle lets out a surprised laugh when he sees Mysterion hanging upside down from a tree branch, cape billowing out under him like a curtain. Then he remembers why he’s here and his mood sobers.

“Um. Hi.” He moves back, giving Mysterion to enter the room. A tense second passes before he does, slinking forward like a cat. Kyle still hasn’t gotten used to how quietly he moves.

“Do you need my help?” Mysterion asks, voice low and scratchy. Kyle almost rolls his eyes and tells him to drop the act.

“No.”

“Are you in danger?” His voice takes on a dangerous edge. Kyle shivers.

“No. I-” He worries his lip. He should’ve planned what to say instead of playing it by ear. _God,_ he’s such an idiot. Kyle never speaks without running over what he’s going to say first. 

Mysterion is still waiting. If not for the awkward gaps between what hardly counts as a conversation, Kyle would think he isn’t affected at all, that he’s completely forgotten about last time.

“You can tell me,” Mysterion says gently, sounding softer, sounding more like _Kenny_ — 

“I know who you are,” Kyle blurts out, very tactlessly not to mention.

To his credit, Mysterion doesn’t even flinch, just tilts his head slightly. “Do you,” he says, more statement than question. 

Kyle swallows, plays with the hem of his shirt, makes brief eye contact with Mysterion then looks away just as fast.

“Kenny.”

It’s so subtle anyone else wouldn’t notice it. But Kyle has known Kenny for too long, too long to miss the way he stiffens almost imperceptibly, the slight curl of his fingers, the hunch in his shoulders.

“I’m not an idiot,” Kyle whispers.

Mysterion pauses for a split second. “You sure?” he jokes. It’s an answer to both statements, but Kyle can hear how his voice is shaking, how he’s just as scared as Kyle. His voice is still a deep rumble. It doesn’t sound anything like him at all — which is the point — but at the same time it _does_. 

Kyle can’t believe how blind he’s been.

He edges forward slowly. Mysterion stiffens, a cornered animal with no way out, eyes flitting around the room as the look in them goes frantic. Kyle’s hands are shaking as he brings them to the edge of the costume’s hood, but it’s okay because Mysterion is shaking too.

He’s having trouble breathing. Mysterion doesn’t seem to be breathing at all. 

It feels a little ridiculous, being so dramatic about an unveiling, but when Kyle pulls the hood back he gasps. The distinct gold of Mysterion’s hair seems to glow in the moonlight. Now that he knows — it’s so obvious. 

“Kyle,” Kenny says in his own voice, cracking with something bordering desperation. 

Kyle locks eyes with him. Then, completely contrary to his previous movement, rips the mask off in one fluid motion. 

Freckles. Blue eyes. Kenny.

“You fucking asshole,” Kyle whispers.

Kenny shrinks back, the hurt flooding his features. Kyle cups his face and he stills.

Nothing amazing or groundbreaking happens when he leans forward and seals their mouths together, but Kyle thinks something should. He should’ve set up fireworks. He feels like there should be music playing. He’s being crazy, but he’s also too euphoric to care.

Kenny seems to have frozen with shock. Kyle is about to pull away, uncertainty starting to creep in on his high, but then Kenny reciprocates and pulls Kyle in by the neck. 

He’s smiling into it, and then Kyle is smiling too. He licks over the gap in his front teeth — _God_ , he’s wanted to do that for so long — pulls back, looks him in the eyes, leans in again. They kiss and kiss and keep kissing. 

They’re intertwined on the rug with the lights turned off, Kenny in his ridiculous costume with the fucking underwear, Kyle in his pajamas, and everything is right. Everything makes sense, and Kyle can’t remember what being scared ever felt like.  
  


* * *

  
Cartman has a field day when they walk into school holding hands. Kenny beats him up. They both do.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://yazuminkelei.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/juniepertrees)


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